Paleblood Bastard
by TrashTierHusbando
Summary: Years ago, Jon Snow fell sick with a vile illness. He was saved when a traveler came, speaking of a far off city where anything could be cured, Yharnam, and offered to take the boy there for a price. Now the boy has returned to his homeland. The last of the Workshop, he seeks to ensure that the Hunter arts do not die with him, but he brings more than simple tricks with him.
1. Prologue

Paleblood Bastard

It started with a simple sickness. A child with the pox, cursed by the same woman that prayed over him. I remember Lady Stark over my bed, swearing to figments to treat me as her own, weeping into her clenched fists. As if the Seven could save me, could dare challenge the will of the Hunt. I remember a man walking through the door, saying he could save me, but he would have to take me away. I wonder if Lady Stark would have kept her promise.

_How long has it been? _How long since this fight began? I had defied Gehrman, sought to free him from this dream. He took my life a dozen times, yet I refused to yield. The first time I had died in a single strike. His scythe slicing through me just as it did the flowers around me. Yet he fell to me, then it came. The Moon Presence was strong, every second it tried to flay my mind, almost binding me with my first death, just as it did the old man. But I was more than he was, so I rose and fought. Until the Nightmare was slain. I was cold, then mother picked me up.

**The North**

I strolled through the woods, the trees bare of leaves, my feet striding across the snow, leaving no tracks, my cloak fluttering in the faint breeze, and my trusted cane at my side. The moon hung high in the sky, not a cloud in sight, revealing countless stars. The world was silent, no wolves howled, for they were hiding in their dens, and no birds flew. The chill in the air didn't reach me.

This land…I never realized how quiet it was, how simple. I could feel nothing hovering above, seeking to devour my mind. I could see nothing in the shadows, or in the corner of my eye. This land was exactly what it appeared to be. How quaint. Yet looking at the stars, I could feel Eyes, watching me, waiting for a single slip, so they could slip through.

Soon I found a road and began to follow it, the moon racing across the sky as I walked. A scream rang through the still night, coming from the rode in front of me, I simply continued my stroll and it didn't take long for me to come across a pitiful sight. Four men stood over a screaming woman, each covered in furs. She lay on the ground, surrounded by three bodies, much better dressed, though not finely, their red ichor staining the snow a lovely shade. A man was hovering above her, fiddling with his pants.

"Excuse me ma'am, do you require some aid?" I asked, addressing her and making my presence known to the wildlings. They turned to look at me, and began talking, not that I paid attention to what they were threatening. Instead I focused on the woman, her tear-filled eyes attempting to lock onto mine, peering into my black glasses. No doubt I made a frightening sight, my face covered in a cloth mask, my glasses covering my eyes, barely an inch of skin was showing. "Please…" She whimpered out.

I clicked my cane, flicking my wrist, and the snow was painted red, the night returning to silence. At that, I simply continued my path down the road to Winterfell. It was time to see my family.

**AN: **Hello and welcome all! This idea came as a result of my love for Bloodborne and Game of Thrones (excluding s7-8, which I'm still angry about) and I was saddened to see how few crossovers existed between the two. I would also like to note that it is unlikely I will be updating this on a regular schedule, as it is only one of several things I am writing, and my original pieces take precedence. This also happens to be my first attempt at fanfiction.

Jon will be largely OOC as he was taken from Winterfell at a fairly young age and has been effectively raised in the Hunters Dream.


	2. Chapter One: A Dull Dream

Paleblood Bastard

**The Hunters Dream**

"How was your rest dear hunter?" The Doll asked, her gentle tone soothing me, and my tendrils reached out for her. She sat where Gehrman once sat, beneath the great tree where I ascended, a place that had become a favorite of mine. She let out a simple giggle, before wrapping my body in her arms, covering me in her cloak. I had grown, but not by much. I was still small enough to be carried by her, not that I had an issue with that. I had no mouth to respond to her, my body wasn't so crude as to need one. I simply spoke to her mind, and it was a testament to her strength, or my restraint, that she felt no ill effects.

"_The Waking World is…odd. Simple." _I thought to her, wrapping my slug like body around her shoulders, resting my head next to hers.

"Are you disappointed dear hunter?" She asked, her voice little more than a whisper. Was I? I had walked for three days on that road and found little more than four pathetic men. While in the dream, in Yharnam, I couldn't walk ten feet without fighting for my life.

I realized I was. _"A hunter must hunt." _I thought, my voice slithering into her mind. At that her smile changed, sadness creeping into it.

"Ah… a favored saying of miss Eileen is it not?" She asked, though she already knew the answer. While Gehrman would forget our faces, she would remember every hunter, would come to love them all, especially one that had lived as long as that crow. "There is truth to it. A hunter is not meant for idleness. Even one as great as you, dear hunter." She said.

I preened at her praise, the sky lighting in a violet aurora, the flowers all blooming, causing her sadness to fade.

"You must be patient. I am sure the waking world will not be so dull forever." She said, stroking across my tendrils, attempting to sooth me further. She soon began to hum, a quiet lullaby filling the grove.

I suppose she was right. With that, I dozed off, lulled to sleep and returned to the Waking world, away from the arms of my mother.

**The Waking World**

I woke underneath a great tree, my eyes slowly opening. The snow had lessened around me, no longer cold enough to sustain it. I remember the north, it will return soon enough. I had not bothered to disrobe, still wearing my long coat and hat, as well as my mask, my cane still in my hand and the Evelyn at my waist, hidden away from wandering eyes. The sun was shining through the trees, some bare and others evergreen. I was still in sight of the road, and quickly stood and began following it, headed further north.

All along the road, I found evidence of a massive party moving along. Tracks of all sorts, from men and dogs, to horses and wheels. Burnt out firepits and dropped trinkets, buried in the mud and snow. I quickly followed them all, dashing through the trees. They couldn't be more than a few days old, and I was eager to meet such a large group of people, no matter the circumstances.

I moved like a breeze, crossing what would have taken a normal man a day in an hour, leaving no tracks behind, dancing over the road. It took me three hours to find the party, and it was as massive as I predicted. I slowed the moment I noticed them, still well out of eyesight for any of their guards.

I noticed the banners first, a great stag on a field of yellow, painted over nearly every surface. It had been a decade since I had been in this land, but I remembered the symbol of house Baratheon.

My blood calmed, a pang of disappointment running through me that I quickly quashed at seeing the friendly group. It seemed the king was travelling, which would explain the size of the band, almost a thousand people following him, from merchants to nobles to whores, and of course more than a handful of men in armor that I nearly scoffed at, before reminding myself that this land lacked beasts.

I calmly approached the outskirts of the camp, using my cane for its original purpose. Thankfully the road here was less mud and more dirt and snow. Of course, I was stopped by the first soldier I came across, noticing my strange garb, not that I tried to obscure my presence, or make it known.

"Stop!" He said, walking up to me. He was a rather pathetic man all things considered, on the older side with a great deal of fat on his face, sweating despite the chill in the air. He stood slightly taller than me, not that I was a tall man by any means, and was wrapped in Baratheon colors.

"Who're you?" He asked, a slight slur in his voice and the smell of wine on his breath. I could see as he opened his mouth that he was missing several teeth.

"A simple traveler." I responded, leaning further on my cane.

"Tha' don't mean nuthin. Why you wearing that?" He spat back at me, waving his fist and taking another step forward in an attempt to be threatening.

"I was headed north and decided it would be safer to travel with such a large party, safer from the wildlings. As for my dress, I bought them from some Summer islander." I said, ensuring I spoke with a slight accent.

He grumbled for a moment, looking me up and down, before deciding I wasn't worth his time, and waving me on. I walked pass, and began to wander through the camp, catching more than a few eyes as I went. To call it a proper camp was a bit wrong. This was clearly not a military camp, this was a group of random wanderers that had decided to follow the king, and more importantly his many armed guards, as the went north, looking for a little coin. There were more than a handful of makeshift brothels set up in tents, as well as a few bars, but for the most part they seemed to be packing up, ready to move again as it was nearing mid-day. At this rate it would take them a few weeks to reach Winterfell, but I wasn't complaining. So, I began to follow.

That Night

We walked for several hours, stopping shortly before the sun began to set. The people scrambled to set up the tents that they had dismantled only hours earlier. Soon the makeshift city was standing again, and it set off to entertain myself as the sun vanished over the horizon.

I heard screaming and cheering coming from near one of the larger tents and set off it investigate. I found a decent crowd of people, all standing in a circle and cheering. Making my way towards the center, having to nudge a few people out of the way, saw what was so entertaining. It was a fighting pit. Well, less a pit and more of a ring.

In the center of the ring were two rather large men, clearly intoxicated, throwing fists at one another. They were sloppy, but soon enough the larger of the two managed to knock his opponent out, seeming to break his nose in the process. The man quickly woke up and was carried from the ring by a few of his friends while the winner was cheering, playing up to the crowd.

Deciding to have a little fun, I planted my cane deep into the ground, just inside the circle, and stepped inside. I raised my fists, and my opponent laughed for a moment, before throwing a weak hook towards me. I beat six people before I decided I was done.

**AN: **Hey. I decided to get a bit more of this done today. Next chapter will most likely be Jon exploring the camp a little more, as well as his first reactions to the royal family. After that will be his arrival at Winterfell and his reunion with the Starks.

I should point out that while Jon is capable of using, and is skilled with, all of the Hunter Weapons, his main go to is his Threaded Cane. He will also largely avoid using his guns for a while.

This is the Hunter from the Childhood's Beginning ending, but he limits himself in the Waking World to what he was capable of when human, as Jon is not skilled in controlling his powers as a Great One just yet. Basically for now, he is a Great One in the Dream, but in the Waking World he is human.


	3. Chapter Two: A False Hunt

Paleblood Bastard

The king was going hunting. He was hunting! There was a hunt! I was overjoyed, a smile stretching across my face to the point my flesh nearly began to tear, my jaw almost dislocating, popping as I began to laugh. At the very prospect I became aware of my blood rushing through my veins, sloshing against the tubes.

I had only heard the mutterings of it spoken throughout the camp as it woke in the morning, yet as I moved closer to the front of the chain the whispers were confirmed. Several men, seemed to be gearing up, preparing their horses, leading them with not only weapons, but food and wine. At seeing this, a clear preparation for celebration, my blood began to calm, disappointment stilling the ichor every so slightly. This would be no challenge, no battle for life and death. This was a loud, crude affair. Yet a hunt was a hunt, and I would be hunting. So I made my way towards the guards, my cane strapped to my side like a blade, the bowblade on my back, cloth mask lowered.

Walking towards them, I managed to get a glimpse of the king, striding through the camp. At least I assume he was the king, based on the golden crown fashioned to look like a stag's antlers, and the old knight in a white cloak following behind him. He was massive, both a head taller than me, as thrice as wide. He stood talking to a small boy, with golden hair and an arrogant stride. They seemed by be arguing, before the boy walked away in a huff, annoyance on his face and violence in his eyes.

As before, my garb drew eyes to me, and quickly a pair of guards walked up to me, hands on the pommels of their blades. While the previous guard to stop me was pathetic, these two seemed far more competent, well-muscled and in the prime of their youth.

"Halt!" They demanded, voice stern, stepping in front of me, blocking my view of the king. They spoke well, clearly noble, or professional. "Who approaches the King's company?" One asked.

"A Hunter!" I replied, raising my voice so others could hear me, standing tall. "And I was informed there would be a hunt." I said, a cheerful smile growing on my face. They shot glances at each other for moment, fidgeting slightly before responding.

"And you think you can just walk up and join the King?" One said with a slight sneer, his nose wrinkling and lips quirking. His partner on the other hand had a bewildered, and slightly amused smirk on his face.

"I would be a rather poor hunter if I wasn't allowed to hunt. Would I not?" I said, nodding my head in a slight bow. They looked annoyed at not only my quip, but my persistence as I refused to take their hint. They were about to speak, when a booming voice broke through the air.

"What's taking ya shits so long!" the thundering voice shouted. The two guards turned on their heels, quickly bowing one they saw who it was, allowing me to see as well. It was the King, standing a few feet behind them, the knight looking rather exasperated behind him. He was rather more imposing up close, allowing me to see just how massive he was, looking almost like a bear. His massive beard covered most of his face, sweat dripping from his brow, the stench of wine flooding from his breath.

"Apologies your Grace! This man-" The guard stammered for a moment before being interrupted.

"I heard what he said. If the bastard wants to hunt then let em." The King said with a scoff.

"Thank you, your grace." I said, taking an exaggerated bow, before rising and looking him in the eye with a smirk. In response he let out a huff.

"Strange bow. You any good with it?" He asked, a slight mocking tone, his chest shifting as he spoke.

"It belonged to a good friend of mine. As for whether or not I'm good with it, would you like a demonstration?" I asked, sincerity in my voice as I unslung the bow, its edge glinting in the sunlight, a steel arrow held limp between the fingers of my other hand, arms spread wide.

As I drew my weapon, the two guards placed themselves between me and the King, hands on their blades. The elder knight walking in front as well, his body relaxed yet I could see steel in his eyes, watching my every move.

Yet all the king did was let out a bellowing laugh, his gut quaking and his shoulders shaking, throwing his head back. The two guards seemed to relax at that, yet the knight stayed as he was. At the laugh, the eyes of everyone in the clearing were drawn to us, taking note of me, and upon noticing my drawn weapon, several knights started to make their way over, including another in a white cloak, with golden armor and hair.

"You better prove it boy. You'll be hunting with me, and if you shoot me I the ass I'll put your head on a spike." The King said with a chuckle.

"Of course, though I'm sure it will be a challenge to miss such a target." I said. At those words, the clearing went silent, like everyone was holding their breath. The King stared me down, glaring at me as I met his eyes, the smirk not falling from my lips. After a beat, the King burst into laughter again, shaking like an earthquake, and it seemed that the world let out a sigh.

The two guards began chuckling nervously, and in a moment the Kings laugh stopped, and he glared them down. "Oh it's funny is it? You think your king is fat?" He shot at them venom in his voice, tension filling the air once more, as quickly as it vanished, yet the smirk remained on my face. They stood there, shifting on the balls of their feet, their armor clanking slightly and sweat dripping from their brows. Then the King gasped out a laugh, and I quickly joined in with a light chuckle.

"It's been too long since someone's talked to me like that! Come on, let's go kill something!" He said, shouting with joy in his voice, smacking me on the shoulder with his meaty hands, enough force to send a normal to his knees, sweat on his palm. At that order, he turned and began to walk away, grabbing a crossbow from a nearby guard and a wineskin from another before heading into the trees, the rest of the party following him, nearly a hundred people wading into the forest.

We were not quiet as we walked, every second someone snapped a twig and there was always some murmuring going on. We walked for nearly an hour, sunbeams cutting through the leaves as intangible pillars, but soon enough the party grew quiet, the king demanding silence as we found some tracks.

We began to follow them, and soon we found their source. We stood at the top of a hill, partially hidden behind a large oak, a clearing below us. Snow littered the ground in patches, existing wherever the sun couldn't touch, surrounding the bases of the trees like skirts. In the clearing, a hundred feet away was a herd of deer, led by a massive stag with nearly ten spears on its antlers.

The King lumbered up to the edge of the cliff with surprising grace, leveling his crossbow at the beast. He pulled the trigger, and the bolt flew through the air, yet the creature moved at the last second, and it struck the antlers, snapping against them. Fast as lightning, the stag shifted and prepared to bolt. The blood began roaring through my veins, and time slowed. I saw its muscles contracting as I twisted, attempting to bolt. The other deer were already fleeing, but I wasn't concerned with them. I raised the bowblade, an arrow already knocked. The beast took a single bound, and I drew the string back to my cheek. It took one more bound, already about to disappear into the bush, its eye glinting in the light, and I loosed. The steel shaft crossed the distance in a moment, before burying itself clean through the eye of the stag. It was mid stride, hanging in the air for a moment. It tumbled, and a moment later its corpse struck the ground, dead in a single breath.

It was quiet for a moment, the clearing now empty, a growing crimson pool growing around the carcass, feeding the soil. Then a laugh broke silence, and I looked away from my prey, my blood settled. The King was striding over to me, his mouth open in a grin, and I lowered my bow at his approach. Behind him was the old knight, looking rather impressed, a faint smile on his lips, and the golden knight, taking far more effort to hide his own surprise.

As they approached, I loosed my tongue. "I managed to miss your ass, your grace." I said with a smile in my voice. At that he bellowed another laugh, his empty crossbow limp in his arms.

"Aye. Quite a feat that!" He said smiling, taking another swig from his skin. "Let's go see your kill." He said, rapping me on the shoulder once more, before heading down the hill towards the corpse.

After a beat, I began to follow him, the golden knight falling into step with me. "Quite a lucky shot boy." He said, condescension leaking into his voice.

"Dear sir, hasn't anyone told you luck is a warrior's greatest tool?" I shot back.

"Really? And I had thought it was the sword." He said, smirking at me.

"A common mistake I assure you." I said, the smirk growing on my face, a small laugh slipping from my lips at my good mood.

We soon stood over the buck and I saw that my arrow had slightly missed its mark. Instead of punching clean through the eye it clipped the top of the socket, no doubt cracking the skull. I was getting sloppy. Yet as I berated myself the king praised me.

"Hell of a shot lad! It's been years since I've seen such a clean kill!" He said, looking me in the eye. The old knight, who was kneeling at the head of the animal, inspecting the wound decided to chime it.

"It is a fantastic shot your grace. You should be proud Ser…" He said, realizing he had not caught my name.

I was about to answer him, when my blood began to churn. My senses heightened, a chill on the back of my neck, and I could feel eyes watching me. I reached for my cane, unslinging it from my side, before placing the tip of the ground, not looking away from the knight, appearing casual as I leaned on it.

"Oh… I apologize, I have yet to introduce myself. How rude of me." I said, apology in my voice. I felt the eyes shifting, preparing. I heard muscles clenching, before they extended with a burst.

From a small ledge above us, hidden in the bushes, a large cat pounced, easily the size of a man, claws extended and fangs glinting in the light, ready to tear into the elderly knight while his back was turned. My cane snapped, the smooth steel separating into a jagged whip. Lashing out with my wrist, the steel flew through the air, over the head of the knight, before finding purchase in the beasts throat. The steel bit, flesh ripping with the serrated metal, splattering the trees with blood, sound of it all soothing me. The beast fell at the knights feet, blood splattering slightly. The metal of my cane snapped back, and I slammed the tip to the earth, returning the cane to its normal form.

The three stood there for a moment, slightly stained with blood at the violence that had happened in nothing more than a heartbeat.

"My name is Jon Snow, leader of the Hunter's Workshop. It is a pleasure to meet you dear Ser Barristan." I said with a smile, giving a nod and a slight bow.

**AN:** Hi. Next chapter will be a bit more interaction with the King and Barristan, then Winterfell. I wanted to point out that Jon is largely unfamiliar with what is going on in Westeros and who people are. He knows who Robert is, and managed to figure out who Barristan is, but he couldn't name most of the houses or tell you who Jamie is, as he never really learned that before heading to Yharnam, so most of his knowledge comes from stories Old Nan or someone else would tell, and he has no knowledge of current events.

I am also writing this in class so I will most likely come back later and clear up any typos.


	4. Chapter Three: A Return to the Cradle

Paleblood Bastard

"I assure you, I am who I say I am your grace, dear ser." I said in a polite tone, both hands planted on my cane in front of me. They, or rather the King, seemed rather disbelieving at my claim, suspicion in his eyes. Though despite the king's distrust, ser Barristan seemed to believe me, though that may be a result of my previous kindness. "Ask yourselves this. 'What could I possibly gain from such a lie?' Claiming to be a bastard, even the bastard of a high lord, would achieve little. No?"

At that, the king grumbled for a moment, looking me dead in the eye, shifting from foot to foot, crunching the leaves beneath his boots, before speaking. "Hmph…fine. Ned'll recognize you if you're telling the truth." He said with a huff.

"Fantastic!" I said with a smile and a chipper tone, my eyes closing as my lips quirked. "Shall we return to camp? Show off the fruits of our hunt?" I asked, waving my hands over the cooling remains of the two beasts, their sanguine blood mixing with the decaying leaves and melting snow. While the deer was rather intact, the same could not be said for the shadowcat, though that was to be expected with a weapon like the threaded cane. Its throat had been torn out, the flesh dangling uselessly, its spine visible through the wound.

"He is right your grace. It is already past mid-day. I would be best if we returned to camp and continued on the road tomorrow." Ser Barristan said, standing by the king's side and looking towards the sky, having wiped a bit of the blood off himself with a handkerchief.

At that, I simply nodded and made my way towards the cat, shoving my hand into the hole in its neck, coating my sleeve in blood in a delightful squelching sound, and grabbing it by the jawbone, before hefting it over my shoulder, the cooling liquid running down by back.

"Fine. I was nearly out of wine anyway." He said, hefting his wineskin and taking a swig. He turned and looked up to the top of the hill we had come from, before bellowing an order. "Lancel! Get your ass down here and help Ser Jamie with the kill!" He shouted, the birds spooked from their trees at the volume of his voice.

_Two weeks later_

The next few weeks in the train had been rather uneventful. When we returned to camp we feasted on the deer and the shadowcat, the King had never eaten it before and was curious, but I seemed to have managed to join the King's personal company, often drinking with him and telling stories of Yharnam, and hunters such as Ludwig and Djura. Few of which he believed. Yet while I had enamored myself with Robert, the rest of the royal family seemed to keep their distance, the queen glaring venomous eyes at me whenever I was in her company, even drawing away her two youngest as I told them stories.

I had heard from Ser Jamie that he had a brother hanging around somewhere that would be delighted to talk to me, but I had yet to meet the man.

But soon enough, we reached the end of our journey. It was shortly before mid-day, we had set out fairly early as the king had begun to grow impatient with out progress. The sky was grey and overcast, a chill in the air attempting to cut through my garb, but I could feel no rain coming. There on the horizon, settled at the top of a hill stood Winterfell, a stone behemoth ruling the rolling verdant hills, littered with patches of white. Around it stood Wintertown, hundreds of buildings built under the watchful gaze of the Starks. A view I had not seen in a decade.

We quickly began to make our way towards the castle, and soon were walking through the streets of Wintertown, the citizens coming from their homes in droves to greet us. While I was allowed to walk with the king's party, I stayed at the back, the monarch just within eyesight of me, along with the dog headed knight, the young prince, and the queen's wheelhouse. Yet while they strode on their horses, or in their carriages, I walked upon the ground, the beasts inherently mistrustful of me, afraid to even breath in my presence, even if they did not understand why.

We walked through the crowds of people, the shadow of the walls growing ever larger in front of us, and soon we passed through the open gate, a sparse courtyard in front of us, filled with people, lined to greet us. I walked through last, and as I took in the sight, the bare ground and simple buildings, I felt strange. I had been in castles, and as a child I had thought Winterfell the greatest in the world, but now I could do nothing but compare it to Cainhurst or the Astral Clock Tower, and could not help but be disappointed, and awed at the same time. Its glory paled, yet this place felt clean, untouched by the Blood. The warmth I remembered encompassing me as a child, filling my bones, no longer did as much as tickle my flesh, and for the first time since I had arrived, I felt a chill. This place no longer appreciated my presence.

I felt it then, Eyes watching me. Looking up, on top of a tower, was an ancient crow with three eyes, staring at me, twigs embedded in its flesh. Yet I looked at the people lined up, and a bit of that warmth returned, a faint smile coming to my face, and I ignored the creature.

My father stood there, smiling and laughing with the King, looking unchanged from my memory, as if he was carved of stone. Next to him was Lady Stark, older, yet a kind and strained smile on her face as she greeted the king. Next to my father was Robb, having grown from the child I played with to a rather handsome young man. Then there was Sansa, little more than a few years old when I had left, standing there, her hair the same color of fire as her mothers. Then was Theon, a man I had forgotten until I caught his face in the crowd, just as smug as I remembered. I little girl with a mischievous and playful smile stood next to Lady Stark, who I guessed was Ayra, and next to her a child of barely six that I didn't recognize.

As my eyes glanced over them, I noticed the last child, Bran, no more than an infant when I left. He was different than the others. The cosmos seemed to flicker around him, like it did all those with insight, and I could do nothing to stop the smile from tearing across my face.

"Hunter! Come over here!" Robert's voice thundered, interrupting my inspection. Looking over to him, he was waving me over, still talking to father. I quickly did as he said, and made my way towards him. As I approached, I could see father inspecting me, curiosity in his gaze, yet as Robert grabbed me by the shoulder and moved me to face him, realization flickered through his eyes. Lady Stark meanwhile stood to the side, looking confused.

"Ned." The king started. "Is this boy who he says he is?" He asked, grip tightening.

Father and I locked eyes for a moment. He looked me up and down, before he spoke. "Aye. This is Jon Snow." He said, an emotion I couldn't place in his voice, before he strode up and wrapped his arms around me. He was taller than me, but only slightly I realized. I hesitated for a moment, someone other than mother was holding me, and didn't intend to crush me, but I soon embraced him as well.

He let go after a moment, patting me on the shoulders, a smile clear on his face, a slight tear in his eye as he let out a quick laugh.

"Welcome home." He said, warmth in his voice.

_That Night_

They were holding a feast in honor of the king's visit. The main hall was bustling, packed to bursting with laughing men and serving women. The smell of good food and smoke flooding the air. Every moment I stayed there made me uncomfortable, so I quickly found an excuse to leave, heading out into the courtyard. I found myself staring up at the stars, the gentle black of the sky nothing like in Yharnam, the moon a pale white, hidden a few clouds instead of the massive red beneath them.

"A lovely night is it not." A voice asked. Turning to look, I saw a rather small man standing there, coming up only to my waist, with golden hair and stubby limbs. But what struck me was the intelligence behind his eyes, yet I knew he couldn't truly See. Wit without insight. A thing that never could have existed in Yharnam. I had heard about this man.

"Sir Tyrion. A pleasure." I greeted, nodding to him. He seemed surprised for a moment, before his tongue lashed out.

"Ser? Well, this is the first time I have been mistaken for a knight." He said with a smile and a laugh, pulling a wine skin from his belt.

"Ah, a simple force of habit. In Yharnam it is only polite to refer to those you do not know as Sir. Should I call you lord?" I asked.

"Well I am always excited to meet a well-traveled man, especially a good mannered one. So you may simply call me Tyrion." He said with a smile. "And you are Jon Snow yes? Bastard of Winterfell?" He asked.

"I am afraid I have not been of Winterfell for quite some time. But if you must give me a title you may call me Hunter of Yharnam." I said back politely.

He seemed rather surprised for a moment, and I decided to chime in again. "Dear Tyrion, if you expected me to be offended, you should know I have been called far worse than a simple bastard. But let's not dwell on the unpleasant. Is there a way I may assist you?" I asked, genuine curiosity seeping into my voice. I knew little of this man, but I knew he was clever, and that was enough for me.

At my statement, he let out a simple laugh, before answering me. "Why of course you may assist me. A boy travels to a city that I have never heard of and returns a man in strange garb with a strange weapon. I would very much like to hear that story." He said with happiness in his voice.

I stared at him for a moment, before opening my lips again. "Very well. Where would you like me to start?" I asked. There was little harm in telling a few lies of omission. We ended up talking for most of the night.

I woke the next morning, and soon I heard the news spreading through the castle. Bran had fallen.

**AN:** So I have been updating this way more than I thought I would be. In the next chapter I will begin to get into the fun stuff, and canon will begin to diverge. I write fast when I'm in a groove, so I may get the next chapter up later today.

I am also looking for a Beta. If anyone is interested just PM me.

Also, it has been a while since I've watched season one of GoT or read the books, and I am not always confident in writing characters I didn't create. So, let me know if I get anything wrong or the characters feel wrong.


	5. Chapter Four: Reborn of Blood

Paleblood Bastard

I stood over Bran's bed, leaning on my cane. There were three others in the room. Lady Stark, knelt at his bedside as she had mine years ago, weeping and praying. Next was Maester Luwin, checking on Bran once again, finding nothing he hadn't before. Last was father, standing at the foot of the bed, a grim look to him, as if he was molded from ice. Then there was Bran himself, sleeping in the bed, maybe never to wake. Yet his insight only seemed to have grown.

The door opened, and the king walked through, his massive frame barely fitting through the door. "Has the lad fallen before?" He asked father, his voice quiet for the first time since I had met the man.

"Never." Father said back, his features seeming to clench.

"How bad is it?" He asked the Maester, startling the old man.

"The boy is not worsening. But I am afraid that is the only good news. He has yet to wake, and even if he does it is unlikely he will walk again." He said in a truly saddened tone, surprising me. I scarcely remembered the man, but it had been some time since I met a scholar who truly cared about those around him.

"Hmph… A damn shame. The lad would have been a great warrior." Robert said, staring at Bran's unmoving face, before turning to father once more. "If there is anything I can do Ned, tell me and you'll have it." He said, solemn steel in his voice.

I took that as my cue. "I may have a solution." I said, causing all eyes in the room to turn to me, from Luwin's sad eyes to Father's grim gaze and Lady Stark's tear stained rage.

"This is your fault bastard! You come back and then this!" She said, tears running down her face. Lips open and teeth bared. There was no doubt she was a wolf in that moment.

"I assure you, I had nothing to do with the cause of this tragedy, yet I may be able to resolve it." I said, doing my best to dismiss Lady Stark's rage, looking her dead in the eye as I spoke.

"What do you mean." Father's asked, desperation clear in his tone.

I turned to him for a moment before I began to speak. "You sent me to Yharnam because it was a place of great healing. I just so happen to have become skilled in those arts. I could possibly heal him." I said, watching as hope appeared in his and his wife's eyes.

"Then do it boy. Help your brother." The king said, fire in his voice as he took a step closer to me.

"I am afraid it is not that simple. If I heal him then he must do as I did and join the workshop. That is the price." I said, staring the king dead in the eye.

"What're you talking 'bout!" He almost shouted. "Can you heal the lad or not?"

"I can. Without a doubt. But I am the last member of the Workshop, and I refuse to throw away our traditions. If I heal him, he must become a Hunter." I said, my voice ripping all the heat from the world.

The king seemed as if he was about to shout again, before father interrupted him. "What is the Workshop?" He asked, his face stern.

"The Hunters Workshop is an old order from Yharnam. Joining was the price of my being cured. We are elite warriors, who dedicate our lives to the hunting of beasts who prey on the good folk, and to ending the Beast Plague." I said. I turned to the King for a moment, looking him in the eye. "It is also the reason I returned to this country. I wish to reestablish the Workshop incase the Plague ever makes it to this land." I said.

"What does it entail?" Father asked.

"If you are worried it is like the Kingsguard or the Nights Watch then you needn't worry. Bran may still become lord. He may still have a wife and children. But above all he will be a hunter, and he will be sworn to hunt the Beasts wherever he finds them. Upon healing him, I will take him from here for a time and commence his training. When that is done, he may do as he wishes." I said.

"Do it." Lady Starks said, determination in her voice.

"I have told you it is not so simple." I said, before looking at Robert. "First you will need to acknowledge the Hunters Workshop as a legitimate order, lest we be seen as bandits or mercenaries." I said.

At that, Robert looked like he was going to argue, but father simply put a hand on his shoulder. They locked eyes for a moment, before the king gave a sigh and turned back to me. "Fine. It'll be done if you succeed. Happy? Then heal the boy." He said, clearly unhappy.

"There is one more thing." I said, walking over to Bran's bedside, standing over him. "This is a choice he must make. I won't allow anyone to make it for him. I can wake him for a moment." I said, pulling a small bell out of my pocket. I held it right above his head, and rang it, the cosmos twisting around me.

Bran's eyes snapped open in a flash, and he let out a startled gasp. Lady Stark let out a cry and rushed over to him, while all the others in the room had shocked looks on their faces.

"Bran. Look at me." I said over Lady Starks rambling, drawing his confused eyes to me. I locked eyes with him, before reaching out and grabbing a hold of his leg, squeezing hard, though careful not to tear into his flesh or break his bones. Then I spoke. "Can you feel this." I asked.

At my question, his eyes darted down and saw what I was doing, concern filling his eyes as he realized how could no longer feel his legs.

"I thought not. Do you remember anything of your fall?" I asked with a sigh.

He looked confused, his eyes going almost cross for a moment as he tried to think, before shaking his head. "No."

"Very well. You fell whilst climbing. Your spine was damaged, and it is unlikely you will walk again." I said. The concern in his face grew into fear, and tears began to form in the corners of his eyes.

"However. There is a way I could heal you, but at a price." I said, making sure neither he nor I blinked as we stared at each other.

"What?" He asked, lip quivering slightly, afraid and grasping for anything that could help him.

"You would need to become my student and join the Hunters Workshop. If you agree you would effectively act as my squire and would travel with me." I said.

At that hope seemed to return to his face, eyes almost lighting up, joy visible through his tears. "Can you really heal me." He asked.

"I guarantee I can, but it will be quite unpleasant." I said, a gentle smile finding its way onto my face.

A moment passed, silence filling the room, the only true light coming from the window, the light fading as the sun set and lighting the room in amber and orange. Then he gave a small nod, and my smile turned into a grin.

"Good. Father, get someone to carry him to a larger room, one with a large table. I will need to lie him flat on something sturdy. I will gather a few things and be back." I said with glee and determination in my voice. Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heal and walked out of the room.

It did not take me long to find what I needed. A few large nails from the blacksmith and several thick straps of leather. I walked quickly through the courtyard, before throwing open the doors to the main hall. It was empty save for the Stark family, the rest of the children looking afraid, some clearly having been crying. Robb, who I hadn't yet had the chance to talk to, was looking almost as stern as his father. Maester Luwin, was also standing there, along with a very large man I didn't recognize.

Laying there on a long table in the middle of the room was Bran, staring up at the ceiling and laying on a thick fur pelt.

"Strip him. He doesn't have to be naked, but he shouldn't be in more than his smallclothes. And remove the pelt, it will get in the way." I said, and in an instant the large man began moving to obey, saying nothing more than the word 'Hodor', as did Luwin. As the large man lifted Bran, I could see that the boys eyes were hazy, and he was drifting in and out of consciousness.

Soon he was exactly as I told them to make him, with nothing more than his smallclothes, his body clearly bruised a deep purple in several places. I turned to look at the rest of them. "Here are the rules. You don't have to leave, but under no circumstances can you interfere with what happens. This will be extremely painful, but you cannot come near him until I say so. You may not speak, or scream, or make a single noise. If you can not do that then you must leave. Am I understood?" I asked. Making sure I was understood, glaring each one of them down. "The youngest needs to leave. Along with any that may break these rules. Take them outside." I said, pointing at the child hiding behind his mother. I couldn't trust him to keep silent.

There was a pause, until father looked towards Robb and nodded. At that, Robb moved, grabbing the hands of both his sisters, and ushering them and the young child out of the room, getting the large man to follow, the door slamming shut behind them.

"Good, then we can start." I said, reaching into my bag. I pulled out the strips of leather and the nails. I placed a strip over Bran's right wrist, before taking a hammer and driving a nail down on one side, before repeating on the other, pinning him in place. I proceeded to do the same on his other wrist, as well as three more times on each arm, working my way up. Then I moved to his legs, pinning them as well.

"What are you doing to him!" Lady Stark asked, shock in her voice.

"He will likely thrash. I cannot have him hurting himself." I said, driving another nail in. Once his legs were secure, I placed on more strap over his forehead, keeping him from moving it.

I could feel the sunlight outside finally die, the moon having replaced it, the night chill flooding the air, reaching us despite the warmth of the castle.

I stood over Bran, looking down at his eyes. "Are you ready?" I asked.

"Yes." He croaked, voice slurred and groggy. His eyes were clouded and he was sweating fiercely.

"Good…if it helps, you may think of all of this as a simple bad dream." I said. At that I pulled a vial filled with a red liquid from by bag, a vicious needle at the end. I opened myself up to the cosmos.

I plunged the needle into the boy's arm and began to recite. "We are born of the blood…made men by the blood…undone by the blood…"

His flesh began to quiver, skin tearing, and I reached out towards him, connecting his mind with the dream. Then the began to thrash. His arms and legs began to spasm, trying to free themselves from his bonds. He began to scream, his shrieks filling the hall, bouncing of the stone. Lady Stark began weeping. The sounds of a screeching raven filled the sky, echoing outside throughout all of Winterfell

The nails creaked at his strength, but didn't break, and he soon opened his eyes and began to wag his tongue.

"Where am I! What is this! I can't see! Why can't I see! Where are my eyes! GIVE ME MY EYES! LET ME SEE!" He screamed, shriek turning into a bestial, bloodcurdling roar.

At that roar he fell back, his struggles ended. His breath came in ragged pants, and as he began to pass out, I spoke. "Your eyes have yet to open." At that, Bran left the waking world, and I could do nothing but smile.

**AN: **I may manage to get another chapter out today. Then I will go back and clear up any typo I may have missed.


	6. Chapter Five: A New Lantern

Paleblood Bastard

The room was silent. The wind howled outside, crows screaming their death wails, yet none of that cut through the weight of the silence blanketing the room. Bran was silent, his screaming stopped, the only proof of his continued life being the slow rise and fall of his ribcage. The many bruises that littered his body had vanished, having faded during his thrashing.

After a beat, I pulled out a knife and cut the leather bindings. My movement spurred on the rest of the room, freeing them from their apparent stasis. Father and Lady Stark bolted across the room to check on their child. His mother cradled his head, running her fingers through his hair, her tears dripping onto his face. His father simply grasped onto his hand, enclosing the fragile digits in his own calloused grip, a relieved smile on his face, staring down at his son before he turned to me, smile fading.

"What…what in the gods was that?" He asked, his voice a whisper, as if he would attract the attention of those gods if he spoke too loud, a foolish notion, we already had their attention.

"I injected him with my blood, Hunter's blood, just as I was injected with the Old Blood. Such a thing can change a man." I said.

"My Lord." Luwin said as he approached the table, addressing father. "I have seen experiments about the trading of blood during my time at the Citadel. Though few ended well, I have never heard of even one that had such an affect. The screaming…and healing such a wound…simple blood could never do such a thing." He said, awe in his voice and on his face.

"Blood magic?" He asked, his voice filled with equal amount confusion and fear.

"Medicine. Magic is nothing more than a word to describe what isn't understood. I, however, understand it perfectly." I said with a gentle smile. "And to call this blood simple is quite a disservice if I may say."

"And why is that?" He asked, his annoyance rising at my way of speaking.

I was silent for a moment, staring my father in the eye behind my glasses, the flickering of the candles dancing on the lenses. After a breath I spoke. "According to the Healing Church…the blood in my veins, and now in his…belongs to a god." I said, my smile never fading. I waved my toward Bran, his small frame cradled in his mothers arms. "I believe the effects speak for themselves…no?"

**The Dream**

I laid over the shoulders of the Doll, her shawl shielding me from the cold. We stood atop the highest tower in Yharnam, the entire city laid out beneath us. I could see Oedon Chapel, the cloud of incense remaining, even though the kind dweller had long since passed. I could see Bygenworth in the distance, and the charred remains of Iosefka's clinic, which I had burned to the ground in a fit of rage. I could see Old Yharnam, the seal broken yet the inhabitants still too afraid to leave, lost in their bestial nature. I could see Yahar'Gul, the Amygdala's still hugging the buildings, yet now they looked up in fear. This city was nothing more than a nightmare now. In Yharnam, there was no difference between the Dream and the Waking world. They had bled together for far too long. I stood atop the Astral Clocktower, a building which should not exist. Yet as I looked at the city, there was not a single sound.

_It is far too quiet._ I thought to my Mother as she stroked my flesh, unbothered by the slimy texture against her porcelain fingertips.

"It is calm dear hunter." She said, agreeing with me without understanding what I meant.

_How many beasts remain?_ I asked her, searching through the city, feeling little of notice beyond the Amygdala skittering like roaches.

"Many dear hunter. Can you not see them?" She asked, confusion and genuine curiosity in her voice. She was not wrong, there were no more men in Yharnam, no one that could be saved, only beasts and kin.

_How many of worth? _I asked, finding all those below lacking. My tentacles reached up and began to stroke across her face, causing her to sprout a small smile.

"I am afraid I do not understand dear hunter." She stated, giggling slightly, feeling my touch on her artificial flesh.

_How many beasts could pose a threat to a hunter? How many can the boy truly cut his teeth on? _True disappointment filled me. There was nothing worth hunting left in this city. I had picked it clean, only leaving the Amygdala alone because they were beneath me. I disliked hunting the same thing twice.

"The Amygdala would be quite a threat, would they not?" She asked, quirking her head to the side, coincidentally out of reach of my feeling tendrils.

_They are beyond the child. He could not see them, much less kill them._ It was true, while the boy had natural insight, it was not enough. He lacked both knowledge and skill. _He needs more prey. Greater prey. Lest his mind begin to wander. _That was what I feared. An idle mind was a poor thing for a hunter. Idle minds are what brought the hunt in the first place.

"Perhaps you may find a solution good hunter." The Doll whispered to me, sadness in her tone at her inability to give me any answers.

I simply continued to feel through the city. I could feel the blood boiling and churning, my presence spurning it on. I realized that there was a simple solution. I ceased restraining my presence, and the gentle stirring became a boiling cauldron. All through the city, flesh began to twist, the plague progressing, and soon, dozens of roars shook the stone.

A red moon hung above me once more. Mother began to applaud my work.

###

The Raven Chick flew above the cursed city, the Paleblood moon hanging above his head. The feathers had yet to grow on his wings, his eye closed, too young to see. He struggled to stay aloft on the rancid air, terrified at the roars filling the streets below. There were many like him below, older, yet the same. Ravens who were once men, twisted by the blood. A hand reached out, enclosing his fragile body in its grasp. He was held in the palm of its hand, a hundred eyes gazing down at him.

Bran awoke with a groan, eyes snapping open, his muscles crying for rest, his veins and arteries tingling. He laid in his bed, wrapped in furs once more, Catylyn still resting next to him, as she was when Jon had woken him, yet now she was asleep, passed out holding her son's hand. Yet unlike last time, when he tried, he could wiggle his toes.

He began to shift in his bed, throwing the pelts off him, the warmth of the castle walls heating his bones, the beams of the rising sun finding their way through the window. His rustling woken his mother, Catelyn's eyes opening with slow blinks, before snapping open as she noticed her boy had woken.

"Bran!" She shouted, bolting to her feet, bringing him close to her as she inspected him, her hand on his forehead.

"Mother?" He murmured in confusion, eyes dazed, not recognizing where he was for a moment.

"Thank the gods you're okay!" She said, tears filling her eyes once more, running down her face. She looked to have aged a decade in the few days since the fall, her face filled with several new wrinkles and may of her hairs having gone grey, painting her fiery locks with ash. "Can you move your legs?" She asked, looking down at them.

In response, Bran began to move his feet, twisting at the ankle. Upon seeing this, Catelyn let out a sigh of relief, like a thousand pounds had been lifted from her shoulders. She threw her arms around her child, holding him in a crushing grip for a moment, her tears soaking his shirt. Slowly, clearly hesitant, she let go, before grabbing Bran's face with both hands, staring him in the eye.

"Bran, you are never to climb again. Do you understand me!" She said.

Bran sat there a moment, staring into her eyes, before giving a simple not, not once breaking eye contact. At that the smile returned to Catelyn's face, and she embraced her child again.

There was a knock at the door, the thud of a fist against the wood breaking the moment between mother and son, both looking up with a start. "Enter." Catelyn said, tears still in her voice.

The door swung open, and Jon walked through, still garbed in his Hunter's gear, cane at his side, smile on full display, yet there was something wrong about it in Bran's eyes.

"Ah…wonderful. How are you feeling my boy?" Jon asked. Bran stared at him for a moment, not quite recognizing him.

"Fine." He said, his voice sounding small, throat tired from disuse.

"Fantastic. And your legs?" Jon asked, walking over to the bedside, gliding across the stone, stepping into the sun beam, cane reaching out and poking the appendages in question.

Bran flinched at the poke, a slight pain shooting up his leg at the sharp tip.

"Good. Everything seems to be in working order." He said, his smile growing as he spoke. His teeth seemed like needles to Bran, but he quickly brushed that of as a trick of the light.

Bran continued to stare at him for a moment, before Jon caught on to his confusion, smile falling from his face. "Ah. We haven't been acquainted properly, have we? I've been a bit busy with everything. You haven't though I am sure father has mentioned me." He said, leaning forward. At that realization lit across Bran's face.

"You're… Jon? You… you healed me." He said, unsure of himself, eyes darting away for a moment.

"Yes. Yes I did. And do you remember what you agreed to in return?" Jon asked, eyes sharpening.

"You…you said I would be your squire…your student." He said, looking from Jon to his mother.

"Exactly. Our first lesson will begin tonight. But first we should let your father know you are awake. As well as the king." He said. "Do you need help standing?"

At that, Bran began to move, swinging his feet off the bed with some effort, his legs dangling above the floor. He took a deep breath, before leaping off. His bare feet hit the stone, and he stumbled for his moment, only steadied when he reached out for the bed, Jon standing not a foot from him, unmoving. Carefully, Bran steadied himself, staring at the floor as he moved, until he was sure of himself. His eyes met Jon's once more, a smile on his face.

"Good. Come on. Let's break your fast." Jon said, turning on his heel and walking out the door. Bran looked to his mother once more, and she too made her way out the door, staying within arm's reach of Bran in case he fell again.

As they walked, the began to hear the chatter of voices and smell the food wafting through the halls as they came closer to the great hall. Servants saw them as they passed, bowing to Lady Stark and their young lord, offering blessing for his heath, clear joy in them as the saw him doing well.

All three crossed in to the great hall, not as packed as it was the first night yet still home to the royal family and the Starks, and soon all eyes were on them, more specifically Bran. The Queen and her brother looked stunned for a moment, while there was joy in the eyes of their children, happy their new friend was okay. The Stark children bolted out of their seats and rushed over to their brother, checking to see if he was okay, while Jon headed towards the king, the good mood clear in the monarch's eyes.

"Your Grace." Jon said as he approached, smile on his face. "I believe I have held up my end of the bargain." He said, standing tall as he planted himself.

"Aye. Y'have. Kneel." He said. Jon obeyed, dropping to one knee, still looking Robert in the face. "Ser Barristan, your sword." He commanded, Barristan quickly making his way over, handing him the blade, which Robert quickly unsheathed. "Ya need a name. Can't be calling ya Snow anymore." He said.

"Paleblood." Jon said, not bothering to think for too long.

"Paleblood? Not something Stark?" He asked.

"Paleblood is a title I was granted some time ago… I feel it suits me." Jon said in response, a smirk on his lips.

"Fine." The king said, before placing the blade on Jon's shoulder. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the-" He started.

"Your grace. I am afraid I do not follow the Seven." Jon said in interruption.

"I don't give a fuck. If you want your order you'll sit there till I'm done talking." He shouted to the kneeling Hunter. But before he started talking again, he simply sighed. "Ah piss on it. Rise, Jon, Lord of House Paleblood. Leader of the Hunter's Workshop." He said, grabbing Jon by the shoulder and wrenching him to his feet, before handing the blade back to Ser Barristan.

Those in the hall began to applaud, the children rather enthusiastic about the whole thing. Eddard held real pride in his eyes. The Queen barely hid her contempt, clapping only to appear polite, while her oldest refused to clap at all, looking like it was nothing more than a pitiful distraction, the ever-present violence in his eyes seeming to grow.

Just as Jon had promised, he was taking Bran into the woods, the sun having vanished over the horizon, the moon crawling its way up the sky. They had been walking for some time, wandering through the trees without any direction. While the boy's mother had protested at him wandering into the woods this late, but his father had put a stop to that, reminding his wife that the boy had made an oath.

The moon was bright tonight, full and larger than Bran had ever seen it, its light even casting shadows, stretching through the woods. The night was silent, the only noise was the sloshing of Bran's boots against the snow, while Jon seemed to stride atop of it.

Soon they came to a clearing in the trees, the snow melted on the ground. Bran stopped and looked around, before turning his gaze to the sky. It was full of millions of stars, and the boy couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched.

When he turned to look at Jon, something had changed. The man was standing there, holding what looked to be a lantern of a metal stick, driving it into the earth, burying it deep with a single heave. Jon stepped away from the lantern, walking up to his student, holding out his hand. In the hunter's hand was a strange item, what looked to be a vial of white liquid. "Take it. Light the lantern." He said.

Slowly, Bran took the vial and walked over to the lantern, yet as he inspected it, he was unsure of what to do, He was about to ask, when Jon's voice called out. "Hold it inside the lantern, and crush it." He said.

Bran did as he said, the vial shattering in his hand, the glass seeming to vanish, leaving his hand uncut. The lantern lit in a flash, blue light filling the grove, a cold filling Bran to his core. He turned to look at his brother, when a chill pierced through Bran's heart, and he was stuck.

Jon was right in front of him, cane held out, and as Bran followed it, he saw what the cold was. The tip of the cane had been driven through his heart and out the other end, crimson ichor flooding down and into the snow, robbing him of all warmth. He felt no pain. He looked up at his brother, his vision darkening around the edges, world losing shape around him. Jon's features seemed to be indistinguishable, flat and impression less, yet thousands of tentacles seemed to be coming from him, wiggling in the moonlight. Then Jon spoke, yet his lips didn't move, the voice sounding through Bran's skull, beating into his brain like a war drum. _Your first lesson. The hunt never stops. Oh…and do be kind to mother._

Jon wrenched his arm back, tearing the cane back, turning it into a whip as he did, the serrated edges tearing through his brother's flesh, leaving a gaping hole behind. Bran fell onto the snow, with nothing keeping him up anymore. As his mind went dark, Jon spoke again. _Have a wonderful dream, young hunter._

Kingdoms away, in a great library, a candle flashed to life.

**AN:** All right. This chapter is the first one that has a PoV outside of Jon's. The way I have decided to do this is that Jon will be in first person, while everyone else will be in third. It won't happen often, but it will happen.


	7. Chapter Six: A Weapon

Paleblood Bastard

The Dream

I was laying over mother's shoulders like a scarf, simply watching the boy as we wandered around the Workshop. Mother was sitting in that little nook of flowers, where I had first seen her. The child did not even approach her, simply walking pass, his boot clicking on the stone steps. The Messengers were reaching, grasping toward his feet as he walked, yet he didn't seem to notice them. His mind was not yet open.

We would need to change that. _Follow him. _I commanded Mother. She stood from her little stone bench, her joints rattling and porcelain flesh clicking against itself. Yet her steps didn't make a sound as she glided up the stairs after the child.

He stood in the center of the workshop, marveling up at the wall of weapons, baffled by most of them. The firearms in particular seemed to confuse him as he lifted one up by the barrel, going so far as to look down it after a moment. The messengers set in the corner, marveling at this new hunter, these ones seeming too shy to approach, content to watch from a distance. Mother was amused by him as well, based on the faint smile on her lips. Good… I hated seeing her lonely. I figured I should interrupt before he blew his head off. I nudged the Doll with one of my tentacles, brushing against her cheek.

"Hello young Hunter." She said in that lovely accent of hers, startling him. He spun on his heel, brandishing the Reiterpallasch he had been inspecting. I could see the shock in his gaze as his eyes danced over Mother, confused by her existence. Yet he could not see me, his eyes had yet to open. I could see his mind expanding as he took in her presence, and even though he could not see me, simply looking in my directing seemed to be doing the same.

He nearly keeled over, holding his head with one hand, eyes clenched shut. His groan echoed through the workshop. Both the Doll and the Messengers looked on with concern, with the little ones going so far as to approach him. He could perceive them now, as when he opened his eyes, he let out a scream, scaring them and sending them running behind the closest bits of furniture. They hid behind the alter in the corner and the chair legs, as well as behind the door frames.

Bran took a step back, dropping the blade with a clang, a mistake I need to ensure he never makes again, fear in his eyes. The Doll took this moment to attempt to calm the boy. I felt it best that I view from a distance, lest the frenzy and influx of insight leave him nothing more than a useless husk. With a thought, I was off the Doll's shoulders, leaving the warmth of her shawl, instead hanging from the cold rafters.

"Do not be alarmed young Hunter. The little ones are merely excited. This is a safe place." She said with a smile, tilting her head slightly. Bran's eyes shot back towards her, hesitance wafting off him before he took a step forward, opening his mouth.

"Who… what is this place?" He asked, deciding on a question after a moment. A rather good one, all things considered.

"This is the Hunter's Dream young one." She said, but based on the look on his face, that answered none of the lad's questions. It was a moment before he decided on another one, his gaze occasionally flicking toward the Messengers.

"How… how did I get here?" He asked, picking up the blade, his voice trembling, along with the rest of him. I swear I could hear his teeth rattling, not that I had ears.

"The Good Hunter sent you here, though I do apologize if it was a bit rough. The first time is always a bit of a shock." She said, her tone soothing. She did not react in any way to the child arming himself, nor his "threatening" stance.

"Jon…he…he stabbed me. Am I dead?" He asked, shock and fear in his voice, almost a whisper, along with a decent amount of disbelief.

"No my young Hunter. The Good Hunter would not allow you to die so easily, nor did he intend to kill you." She said with that motherly reassurance in her voice.

"Then…where am I?" He asked once more, looking around him, not dropping his stance.

"The Hunter's Dream." Mother answered again. It was at this moment I decided I would need to make my presence known. Mother did not understand the waking world well enough to describe the differences.

I formed an image of myself, a hallucination in the boy's mind, standing directly behind him, just as I was in the waking world. Just as I once was here.

"This is what makes a Hunter a Hunter." I said through the mirage. I could not speak directly to his mind, so I actually had to create the sound.

He spun on his heel, terror flowing off him in waves. He took a few steps back when he saw me, his eyes wide, mouth open.

"Calm down boy… If I had any desire to kill you, you wouldn't be here." I said, walking past him, pushing the blade of out the way with the back of my gloved hand.

"What do you mean?" He asked, though I wasn't sure in relation to what.

"A Hunter is more than flesh and bone. They are their thoughts. That's what keeps them alive, as long as that remains, the body will fall into place." I said, placing the firearms back into their proper place, hanging on the wall. To him it looked like I was picking them up, but in reality I was simply reordering the dream.

"I…what?" He asked, confusion almost overriding his fear.

I paused for a moment and would have even sighed had I still be capable of it. "Don't worry. It will make sense soon enough. For now, just know that death is not the end for you. Anytime your heart stops in the waking world, you will return here. Now come over here." I said, the specter not turning to him as I spoke.

It took him a few moments he lowered the blade. He walked over and placed the sword on the table, and I returned it to its proper location. "Good. Now I believe it is time for you to pick a weapon." I said, the figure of me turning to him. "Anything within this workshop is at your disposal. I recommend choosing something small." I said. I doubt he could even lift a third of the weapons, much less wield them with his size, limiting his options.

He looked around a moment, before his eyes darted to the Doll. He leaned in and whispered to me. "What…what is it?" He asked.

It took everything in my power to keep from flaying his mind at the disrespect. Based on the way his stopped breathing, I knew he could feel my displeasure. "She…is my Mother. And you will refer to her with the proper respect." I said, searing the idea into his brain.

He held his head for a moment, scratching his forehead in his pain, before he wisely decided to drop the subject. After he recovered, he began looking through the weapons, before his eyes caught on one that he hadn't been able to see before.

"What…what is this?" He asked, reaching for the glowing blue slug.

"Careful boy… the moment you touch that you won't be able to turn back." I said, his hand stopping an inch from the parasite. It had taken notice of him, and seemed to be reaching out with its presence. Joy filled me at that. I had never dreamed that he would choose the Kos Parasite as his first weapon.

"What is it?" He asked again, this time turning to my illusion, not drawing his hand back. His tone was almost airheaded, like he wasn't quite there. His eyes were hazy, clouded and misty.

"…Something greater than you, and if you touch it, it will be a part of you." I said, not wanting to give the game away. Better he think it is a symbiote than a parasite. Though to be honest, with how pathetic he is, he would probably get more from it than it from him.

He turned back from it, seeming to be hypnotized. "It's…singing to me… it's beautiful." He whispered to himself, hand creeping further forward.

His fingers grazed it, and the parasite reached out, snapping around his wrist and sinking into his flesh. Then he started screaming. He fell to his knees and held his arm, blood flowing down his arm and pooling around him in a glorious red, slowly turning a sickly yellow. Bright blue veins ran up his arm, reaching toward his neck.

Mother walked over to him, before she wrapper her arms around his shoulders, comforting him in her large frame. I let the mirage vanish. The boy's mind began to expand further. He couldn't see me yet, but his growth was simply stunning. A lesser mind would have already shattered.

_He will need the Milkweed._ I said to the Doll. She looked up towards me, and I decided to return to my proper place on her shoulders, ignoring the screaming child.

"I believe it is best that we wait dear Hunter, lest it overwhelm him." She said in response, shaking slightly from his thrashing. Her response dulled my excitement, but she was right, it had been a busy day for the child.

_Very well…I simply hope his mind survives this. Ii would hate to explain his disappearance._ I thought as the child passed out.

**AN:** So it has been a while since I updated, but I told you that updates would not be consistent. I tried to think of what weapon Bran could possibly use. I wanted it to be something arcane, but the main arcane weapon, the Holy Moonlight Greatsword, is way too big for him to wield. Then I came to the conclusions that I could have a lot of fun with the Kos Parasite.

On a different note, I am wondering what I should do with the Direwolves. I will not be adding Ghost, as Jon is beyond the point where he could be of any help, but I'm on the fence about adding Summer.


	8. Chapter Seven: A Wolf

Paleblood Bastard

It was a long night for the boy. He screamed and screamed as his flesh twisted and broke, again and again. His arm turned blue from the parasite as it began to devour him.

But he survived. He lay on the floor, panting, but awake, alive. I didn't even have to resurrect him. Quite an impressive feat. His blank eyes looked into nothing, he was lost in his own existence for the moment. The messengers had curled up on his chest, some of them were poking and prodding him, the little ones desired someone to play with, and the lad was providing a poor companion to them. Mother stood above the boy, simply cradling his head in her lap, her porcelain fingers ran through his air, while the messengers climbed up her as well. I maintained my customary position atop her shoulders.

_He has done well._ I thought. Mother smiled at that, looking down at her new hunter, and I suppressed the pang of jealousy that ran through me. Mother lifted her hand from the boy and ran it across my slimy flesh. She could sense my annoyance with the boy.

"I believe he has earned some rest dear hunter…" She said as she craned her head toward me. I suppose she was right. The lad was in no condition to hunt tonight. His mind was too close to shattering. He needed to sleep.

I reach out to his mind and took his dreams from him. This would be the last time he slept well after all.

**The Waking World**

It was fairly easy to avoid Lord Starks questions when I returned to Winterfell with his middle son slung over my shoulder, his right hand wrapped in thick bandages. I simply told him that Bran had exhausted himself during our training, and that the bandages were little more than a hunter's quirk. The lad's mother on the other hand made herself a rather thorough annoyance with how she fretted over my hunter, as if he was a child. She even had the gall to glare at me, as if I wasn't well within my rights to act as I did. I considered reaching into her mind and simply removing her annoying traits, but I thought better of it. My young hunter would be rather distressed to find the woman that carried him in such a state.

After I placated her, I took the lad to his room, and laid him in his bed, before I took a seat in the wooden chair next to his bed and waited.

We stood atop a large hill during mid-morning, rolling green and white surrounding us. The young hunter stood at my side, his arm fully hidden in the new cloak I had given him, the sleeve hid it from view. He looked like a proper hunter now, with a thick leather jacket and a collar made of raven feathers, a remnant from one of Eileen's students.

The other Stark boys were here as well, barring the youngest. His mother had deemed him too young to attend. She attempted to argue the same for my Hunter, Lord Stark put an end to that before I could. The man stood in before us all, his massive great sword, Ice, unsheathed. He stood over a deserter, the cowards head already on the chopping block. The Greyjoy boys hands were shaking, his blood not hot enough to fight off the chill in the air. The other boys seemed to be fairing much better, but I could tell even they were cold. The young hunter on the other hand could not even feel the cold, the parasite warming his veins. It was burrowing deeper into his flesh, based on the wince he gave off, but he knew by now to simply bear the pain.

Lord Stark was sentencing the lad to death, and the deserter seemed to be taking it with some dignity. He was afraid, that much was clear, but he seemed to have some grit in him. I almost wanted to save him, bring him into my order, another child for mother and I to dote on, but I didn't quite have the sway for such a thing yet. The boy spoke of White Walkers. Lord Stark simply wrote him off, but I was a bit more inclined to believe him.

I placed my hand on Bran's shoulder, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Don't look away lad, take in every detail, burn it into your mind," I said. Bran obeyed. He stood a bit straighter, as if there was steel in his spine, a bit more proud than before.

Lord Stark raised his blade high, and it glinted in the morning sun. I reached out into the deserter's mind. I wanted to feel what he felt, and know what he knew. I could see his life flash before his eyes as the blade fell. From his memories as a child, to taking his vow. And I saw what he was afraid of. I could see demons of ice, taunting him, laughing as they cut down his men. There was terror in his soul, it was delicious. This boy was prey.

The valyrian steel cut clear through his neck. Blood sputtered from the open stump of his neck, it stained the grass and snow a glorious red. I could feel that the young hunter took no pleasure in the sight. He even had the audacity to be revolted by it. But I could also feel the curiosity flow from him. He was intrigued. Good. He would learn to love the sight.

But my thoughts wandered. The image of those demons hung in my mind, and happiness began to bubble from within me. My grin grew so wide it threatened to tear my flesh. _It seems the Hunt may begin sooner than I thought!_

We found the pups on our way back. Their mother had been gored by a stag. A direwolf, a predator, killed by such pathetic prey. Disgraceful. But, its pups survived. Five, seemingly healthy direwolf whelps. Lord Stark had wanted to kill them, but Robb objected. He said that the Starks of old had direwolves, as there seemed to be one for each child. He talked like it was destined, said the gods wanted it to happen. I had to stifle my laugh at that.

Bran looked up to me, he held his pup in the scruff of his left hand, good, he was learning not to use his main hand, not to let the parasite intervene. There was a question in his gaze. And I looked to the pup. It was small, and pathetic, but to be fair, so was the one holding it. "It could be a strong partner, if you manage to control it," I spoke my mind. I doubt he'd be able to keep it from succumbing to the plague, becoming like so many of the dogs in Yharnam, or that he'd even be able to keep it alive within the dream, but that would be a rather simple fix if I so desired. The townsfolk seemed able to keep control of their hounds, why couldn't a hunter?

I looked toward the mother. She was large for a normal beast, nearly the size of a horse. The stag's antler was broken off in its throat, and its fur was stained a permanent red. If it managed to grow that large, just what would the blood do to it? "Keep the beast, it will join you on the hunt,"

He smiled, causing him to look like the child he was. Clearly, he didn't yet understand what I was giving him. He would need to learn.

**AN: **Okay, so it has been like two months since I have updated, and I know this is a fairly short chapter, and I'm sorry about that, but don't worry, I'm going to be updating much more often in the near future. It's NaNo, and my friends have challenged me to write 100,000 words total.

Next chapter I am going to try and get us on the road, and finally get the story properly started. We'll spend some time in the dream, seeing how Bran deals with the hunt, and deal with the drama on the kings road. After that will be the arrival in KL, and I may even get to the tourney.

Feel free to let me know what you want to see, your reviews have been a great help in further fleshing out this story, and thank you all for reading!


	9. Chapter Eight: Potential

Paleblood Bastard

**The Dream**

The lad was honestly quite an amusing hunter. Terrible, but amusing none the less. He wandered the ill-lit streets of Yharnam, so scared he was even jumping at his own shadow, something he learned to be a wise decision when a beast emerged from it and tore out his throat in a spray of viscera that painted the nearby wall a glorious shade. But he was learning, quickly.

He couldn't see me, nor could he see the Amygdala's hanging above. To him this was still a normal city, if a bit monstrous. He could not yet see what he was really doing. He could still see the sun.

He never seemed to make the same mistake twice. He moved through central Yharnam with a flintlock pistol in one hand, while the other was hidden in its sleeve. A beast, in this case one still shaped like a man tore through the door at the boys right, its hatched raised to cleave the child's head in two, and the parasite reacted. Three tentacles lashed out, before the boy could even acknowledge them, and tore the fool into a dozen pieces. I had engraved the milkweed into his shoulder, yet made sure it would not spread further. The parasite was growing quickly. The boy didn't stop walking. Good, to be still it suicide for the Hunter, his prey was dead, so he moved on.

He quickly made his way through the crowds, only having to return to the lantern a dozen or so times before the fear and pain stopped paralyzing him. And then he wandered too close to the clinic, and I had forgotten to close the gates. His brain was liquified, and I decided that the night was coming to an end for now.

**The Waking World**

We had left Winterfell a week ago, and every night was the same. The lords would retire, and the boy and I would go out into the woods and dream. The boys sister, the small one, had gotten curious about his arm, which he always kept hidden on my orders, so she did her best to take a peek. I allowed it. Yet all she could see was the boys unmarked skin. Her eyes were closed, and even the parasite, as weak as it was, was beyond her pitiful comprehension.

While the boy hunted at night, he learned just as much during the day. He could not fight with the parasite during the day, not casually at least, so he needed a weapon. I allowed him to use my cane. He was poor with it. The first time he had used it, he managed to tear his own throat out. He had yet to use the trick again, instead he used it as an iron club, and sparred against me. When he was done with that, I taught him something else, our history.

"Eileen was a skilled hunter, even in her old age, and like her, all of the crow hunters are tasked with slaying those that fall to their baser instincts," I said as I held out the crow hunter badge for the boy to inspect. I could see the fascination in his eyes as he marveled at it. His insight was such that he was beginning to see what it truly was that he was holding. He could feel its history, that much was clear, even if he could not access its power just yet.

My young hunter had also gone to his other sister, the loud one, and made a request, one she granted. Now he wore the milkweed rune proudly, displayed on his cloak. He even had the audacity to claim to mother, whom he had taken a liking to, that he would form his own sect of hunters, just as Eileen and Valtr had. It brought mother and I nothing but amusement, and something I vaguely recognized as joy. The lad still wanted to be a knight, a hero, someone that protects people from what hides in the dark, even if it was much bloodier than he had first thought. The irony was lost on him, but not on me.

The days continued like that for a while, but soon there was a bit of drama regarding the little Stark, and the mewling lion.

Bran and I were returning form our daily practice, and found ourselves moving through the forest when I began to smell blood, and I could hear the sound of hoofbeats, riding quickly. I could hear the panting of a child, and as I moved toward it, I could see why. A boy, slightly older than the one beside me, was running as fast as his legs would take him. Behind him was a man with a dogs helm, the Hound, atop a galloping horse with his sword drawn. Time slowed, as it always did near the kill. _I could save this boy…_ my hand found a home on my cane.

The Hound swung his sword, and the boy was nearly split in two._ But why would I?_ The scent of blood was oh so sweet after all. The Hound's steel was coated in it, as was a great deal of the forest now. Bran was shocked, I could feel it in his mind, but again, there was that fascination, stronger than it was the first time. But then there was anger. _Oh, so he knows this boy… _A smile broke upon my face, and I took a step back and hid myself beneath the nearest tree, and I waited.

Bran stood there, staring at the corpse of that boy, before he turned his attention to the Hound, who had stepped off his horse in order to collect the dead child. I could see the parasite quivering under Bran's sleeve, begging to be let out, to taste blood. The rage rolled off the child in waves. His hands clenched into fists, and he was almost shaking. I waited for him to make a move. After a moment though, the Hound noticed Bran. Upon meeting the man's eyes, hidden under that helm, Bran let out a breath, and bottled his rage. The parasite stilled, but not completely. It was agitated. I let out a sigh of disappointment, and stepped out from behind the tree, placing myself in front of my student. Still I took a glance at the boy and met his eyes. _Not yet._

"Now that was quite a sight dear Hound…" I said with amusement clear in my voice. He looked angry, furious actually, as he met my gaze. He even brandished his blade toward me. "Now, now little dog, I am quite sure that is not needed," I said mockingly, a smirk on my face. He was trying to look threatening and it was adorable. I held my cane limp in my wrist, and used it to motion to the body. "Now what is all this about?" I asked.

"Orders of the prince. I'm supposed to capture the fucker," he said, nearly spitting at me as he did. He then cleaned his blade on the boy's body, and sheathed it, before throwing the corpse over the back of his horse. I was tempted to just tear his eyes out for ignoring me, but decided that there were far more interesting things I could be doing.

"Come along lad. Lat's go see what this is all about."

We stood before the king, and most of his court. The false prince sat at his mother's right, clutching his hand like wounded prey. I could smell the blood in the air, but it was a pathetically small amount. I wanted to add to it, but could wait for a while more. I would get my chance. We were within the crowd, and in the center of the room were the two Stark sisters. The younger was furious, and was sending death glares toward the prince, while the older looked as if she had been crying, her eyes were red and puffy around the edges.

The Queen seemed to be forcing all of her rage toward the girls, and I could feel the madness flowing from her, though it was little compared to her spawn.

I didn't pay much attention after that. The mad cub was mewling about his wounds and wanted blood for it. While the oldest she-wolf proved herself to be nothing of the sort, lying about what had happened. Lord Stark arrived shortly, and it was decided that the false-wolf's dog would be put to death. None of it interested me. I learned that the young one's wolf had run off and sent a messenger to go find it and bring it to the dream, and I did the same with the caged one as well. _A shame to waste such good dogs._

What truly caught my eye, was the youngest's, Arya I believe her name was, rage. The bloodlust rolled from her in waves, and as I reached into her mind I could feel the violence there. She was imagining the most gruesome things. Right now she saw the Queen, the prince, and her sister, all crucified on the same cross. That was something I could use. The madness of the royals was also intriguing, but they were out of my reach for the moment. If I wanted the price, I would need to reveal his secret. I could tell it clearly now, his blood did not match the king's. It smelled filthy, the way the inbred always did. _Best save that for now._ But still, there was so much potential in that room, and I could help but grin beneath my mask.

They came to us in the morning. They couldn't find the other wolves, so they started banging on our door. I was already in the waking world by then, else I would have flayed their minds on reflex. I stepped outside, the lad behind me, and his dog behind him. It was growing quickly, and was the size of a medium dog._ I'll need to bring it into the dream soon._ There were four guards outside the door. "Yes, may I help you?" I asked.

"Apologies Milord, but by order of the Queen, the boys wolf is to be put to death," the lad said. And he was a lad, no more than eighteen. There was a healthy tremor in his voice. He, and the rest of his men, were terrified, a good instinct.

"Oh… I thought it was Lady Sansa's wolf that was to be killed?" I was smirking at them at this point, and was leaning onto my cane.

"Well milord, that's true but-"

"Then we are done here are we not?"

"The lady's wolf was missing milord, so the Queen decided that the boy's would be killed instead," he said. I looked into his brown eyes. He was terrified, but he wasn't sure while, yet he was still here._ A brave one._ I loved brave ones.

"I am afraid that will not be happening my good man. You see, while Lord Stark agreed to allow his daughter's wolf to be slain, my ward's hound belongs to the Hunter's Workshop. If you try to take it, I will defend it as I would any other member," I said. Then I clicked my cane into its whip form with a bit of a flourish. Its jagged edges glinted in the morning light, just begging to tear into flesh.

Sadly, the four boys did the wise thing and left.

**AN:** Thank you everyone so much for your reviews. Even though I don't respond to them, I do read them all, and they really help motivate me, and even provide ideas for what I can do next.

I did want to clarify something that I don't think everyone is getting though. Jon is not a good guy, and Jon is not human. He is a God, and no longer functions under the same morality as a person. And like every other god he wants followers that will do things his way. In this case he is basically the god of the Hunt, so he wants Hunter's. He is not necessarily on the side of the Starks. If he was there would be no conflict in the story. He would just kill all the other houses and be done with it.


	10. Chapter Nine: A Chair and A Raven

Paleblood Bastard

**The Waking World**

I was told that Kings Landing smelled terrible, so I had taken a precaution. My body was malleable, made from my thoughts and turned into flesh, so it was fairly easy to alter. In this case I had simply removed my sense of smell. The city was still disgusting. The air was vile and almost seemed to cling to my skin as we moved through the streets toward the Red Keep. At least Yharnam had the decency to be coated in the delightful scent of blood to cover up the rotting flesh.

The young hunter trailing behind me seemed to get the much worse of it though, with his pathetically rigid and unchangeable body. None of the Northerners were fairing well, the girls were holding their noses while Lord Stark was simply giving a grimace at the scent. But Bran's senses were that of a hunter, a dozen times better than a normal man, comparable to a hound. If it was simply annoying that would have been fine, but it seemed to agitate the parasite, causing the creature to dig into Bran's flesh every so slightly deeper to escape. The boy seemed unsteady on his feet, which I could not allow. So I reached into his mind and turned off the part of it that acknowledged scent. Yet still the agitation of the parasite did not fade, nor did Bran's, and I realized why. I had taught him to fear the city, he had not yet learned that he was the predator, and that all others should fear. He was surrounded by all sides by screaming and wailing, and he urged to lash out and silence what he saw as threats. I felt the same way, if to a lesser degree.

I could feel it, a million minds in this city, caked in rage and blood and madness. This was a city on the verge of a hunt. All it would take is a single drop of blood, a single push to set it off. I smiled.

The boys mind had become like an open room to me. The connection he had created by accepting my blood had only grown stronger as the boy did the same. By this point I could read through his mind like an open book had I wished to. I bet father, the Moon Presence, had been able to do the same with me, but unlike the Paleblood human thoughts were not so foreign to me. I could still comprehend them, still grasp them to a degree, even if I could no longer empathize with them. Just another reason why I was superior to that nightmare. It could not understand its hunters, and thus was unfit to rule them, unlike myself.

It wasn't long until we stood in the shadow of the Red Keep, and began to approach its walls. The people, beasts, waved and cheered in welcome as we passed, with some offering blessings from their gods as if they had the right to do so. They all parted as we moved, the guards stood at alert, yet I could see through the façade, they simply wanted to appear to be doing their jobs.

I looked up at the Keep as we neared it and was thouroly unimpressed. While the girls were looking at it with a measure of awe, enough to cause them to forget about the disgusting conditions that surrounded it, I saw that Bran did not feel the same. Why would he? It was an impressive building to be sure, but compared to Yharnam, or to Castle Cainhurst? It was nothing special. The memory of that castle, of those ghost and statues, of the men turned-ticks, and of the queen in the iron mask filled me with a bit of joy. The boy had yet to see it, yet to wade through the rivers of blood and learn to fear the crying servants. That would need to be rectified soon enough.

My disappointment continued as we entered the throne room, yet I felt a bit of joy run up my spine as well. The room was plain and uninteresting by my standards, nothing like the Vileblood throne room, but the iron chair was a different matter.

It was a monstrosity, towering above everything else. A colossus made from a thousand melted blades. It was impressive to a normal man, but it was the first impressive thing I had seen in this city. It was wreathed in blood and madness. The chair was almost alive, like the gallons of blood that it had been seeped in, that had been spilled from it, had given it its own heart. And what a heart it was. It pulsed madness with every beat, and I realized this was the source of that delectable feeling in the city. Just as the Amygdala loomed over Yharnam, as did many other of the Great Ones, this chair loomed over the entire kingdom, soaking the soil in blood.

I returned my sense of smell, twisting my flesh so I could experience it fully. The sanguine smell was dried by now, but the room reeked of blood, almost akin to the streets of my home city. It was not the quantity or the freshness of blood that brought a smile onto my face, it was simply the efficiency of it. I realized it then. I was not needed in this country, blood would flow regardless, and madness would bloom. There would be a hunt, whether or not I did anything, all because of this chair. _I will need more hunters if I am to make it memorable._ I realized. I needed to start looking for candidates.

The king said a few things, not that I listened, and people began to disperse. I looked to my apprentice, and saw that he was just as agitated as the sight of the throne as I was, he simply lacked the wisdom to comprehend why that was. I strode passed him, and beckoned him to follow, we had things to take care of, and soon. I could not have a green hunter any longer.

**The Dream: Yharnam**

The boy faced a Cleric Beast, his first true hunt. He moved well. The parasite attached to his arm moved almost without input, lashing and striking constantly. Unlike most hunters that had to stop attacking in order to dodge, Bran could do both at the same time. The advantage of having two brains. He jumped back from the creature's slam, pointed his pistol at its face, and pulled the trigger, stunning it. He then shoved his arm into it head, and let the parasite run wild. The tentacle tore the beast's brain to shreds, and soon the tendril ripped out of the other eye. When he took him arm away, he was showered in blood from head to toe, not a single inch clean of the viscera, and the Cleric beast fell to the ground, dead and unmoving. It had only taken him four tries, one less than it had taken me, though he was twice the age I was at the time. He was skilled.

I materialized behind him, appearing in my human form, and I began to applaud. The sound of my palms clapping together echoed of the stone walls of the city, and captured his attention. Without a beast he spun on his heel and lashed out with his parasite. The tentacle moved like a blur and stretched twenty feet toward me. I quickened, vanished in a cloud of smoke, and was suddenly behind the boy. If I hadn't it may well have ripped my head off, not that that would have killed me, and I couldn't help but smile at that.

"Your reflexes are improving," I said as I laid my hand on his shoulder. The parasite went limp beneath my hand, like a cat showing its belly to submit. The boy flinched at the sudden contact, but relaxed as he realized my presence. I took my hand off him and sat down, using the still bleeding head of the beast as a chair as he turned to look at me.

Bran was panting, like he struggled for every breath; his body wanted nothing more than to fill his lungs. No doubt he could taste blood, the beasts and a bit of his own based on a hit he had taken, on his tongue and he inhaled with an open mouth. There was sweat dripping from his brow and matting his hair to his head as it flowed from his skin, barely noticeable against the coat of red plastered to him. I could see the viscera hanging from his arm. But he seemed unbothered by it for the moment. Good. He placed his hands on his knees as he caught his breath, but still his guard wasn't lowered, having long since learned that I would punish him for a slip like that.

Soon he was smiling, and then he was laughing. It was a bloody, full bellied laugh where he threw his head back. He tossed his fists into the air in victory, and began to relish in the kill. I allowed it. It was his first truly successful hunt. This was a triumph. But soon he was done, and his laugher died down, no longer echoing across the city. Tiredness filled him, no doubt seeping into his bones. It was like he could barely hold himself up. I decided to give the child a hand, and I stood from the corpse and walked over to him, and grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him. He did not hesitate to let his muscles fall slack in my grip. But he didn't look at me, he had long since learned that that brought him pain. Even in my human form, it was beyond him.

"…what now?" He asked in between pants. There was excitement in his voice, along with anticipation. It was practically flowing from his mind as insight flooded it.

"A good question lad," I said as I looked out over the city. Where should he go? So far he had not wandered from central Yharnam. "The Cathedral Ward," I decided. He did not need to take the same path I did, Yharnam was more open now, but the Cathedral Ward was a great hub.

"How do I get there?" he asked, and I decided to give him a bit of help.

"There is a great bridge that leads to a graveyard. You've seen it from the lantern. Cross it and then ascend, and you will reach the Cathedral Ward," I said as I pointed in the direction. Maybe he would get lucky and find the elevator, the door was still open after all.

"But for now, rest. You've earned it," I said. And he had. Killing a Cleric Beast at his age was no small feat. I doubt he was in a condition for another hunt anyway. He took another panting breath and fell against me chest, into my arms. He had passed out of his feet.

I lifted the boy into my arms and returned to the workshop. I washed the blood from him before I handed him to Mother to look after. There were no beds in the workshop, we had never needed them, so she simply laid him across the grass on that flowery hill overlooking the cemetery, right beneath the tree, the white flowers parted around him.

I took the time to gaze into his mind. He had not returned to the waking world, I hadn't yet allowed it. He was growing strong. His insight seemed to increase with every day. He was becoming proficient in the arcane at an astonishing rate, no doubt due to the help of the parasite and his own unique nature.

A Raven sat in the tree above him. "Quite bold of you to come where you are not invited," I said. The birds three eyes stared at me as I sat draped across mothers' shoulders. He could see me, barely, but I was not invisible to him. His mind did mot melt in my presence. Good, if he was so weak then he would not even be here. Nor would it be worth my attention.

"The boy must fly…" It said. There was a harrowing tone in its voice, as if the world would end if it was not obeyed. I just smiled at that.

"My hunter is not a bird any longer. He is not yours. He is more than a fragile little raven. But do not worry yourself too much vagrant, his eyes will open soon enough." At that I banished the creature, though I was of half a mind to tear his soul to pieces. Still, I felt that would be a bit of a waste. It would be far more interesting to leave the Bloodraven alive.

Bran's forehead was bleeding. He would see soon enough.

**AN: **We are finally in King's Landing, which means that this is where the plot really begins to get going. It also means I need to go back and start rewatching the episodes, so it may take a bit for my next chapter.

I will be using a mix of the show and book canon for this. Mostly I'll just be taking whatever I find the most interesting from each. Or what I can have the most fun with.

As for one review question about stats, that isn't really how I'm doing things. Jon is beyond that as this point, so consider him at 99 across the board. Bran on the other hand will be running a full int build.


End file.
